I love Christmas. But I occasionally find myself in a moment of loneliness in the midst of all the crowds and music and noise. When I see pictures of friends with their newborns, home just in time for Christmas; hear couples conspiring about the perfect present for each other; or catch the refrain of a song and am reminded that no-one is thinking “all I want for Christmas is you” the sparkle loses it’s shine. Being in the ever diminishing demographic of single 30-somethings can be lonely. But these moments are fleeting. I’m soon reminded of how much love surrounds me as my Mum calls to double check when my train is getting in, my brother texts to ask whether vegetarians eat gravy, and my friends email checking who is bringing the Gin at New Year. I know how lucky I am and how full of people my life is, and I was reminded of this on my last day of work before the Christmas holiday.
Ron* was a patient I had previously met in clinic. He had severe COPD and lung cancer for which he’d opted not to have treatment. He was admitted the week before Christmas with breathlessness and we were treating him for an infective exacerbation of COPD. We were fully staffed and the team had the ward under control so there was time to do what I wish we could do more often: sit and chat. Ron was recovering slowly from his exacerbation but still feeling very breathless. He couldn’t walk more than a couple of steps before having to stop and rest. I suggested he would probably need to stay with us until after the weekend, and asked what his plans were for Christmas. He didn’t have any. No family. No friends. He, like so many other invisible members of our communities, would be having Christmas dinner for one. He had, over the years, lost those he cared for and been left alone. I said it was just as well he didn’t have plans as he may need to stay in hospital for Christmas this year. He agreed all too quickly.
I used to think it would be the most awful thing imaginable to be in hospital at Christmas. And for some this is true. But hospitals are bright, warm places, full of caring people. Every member of staff working this Christmas will do their best to spread some cheer, and give out an extra ounce of compassion to those they see. And for those people who have no-one; who might otherwise be alone, ill and afraid; hospital might be the best place to be.
The NHS is there when no-one else is. It is part of, not only an ideal, but a reality of which we should me immensely proud: the welfare state. As a country we do not value our state services enough. They are not perfect, but they are wonderful.
I worry about the increasing pace of NHS privatisation. Who will be there for those who have no-one in a profit-driven system?
All I want for Christmas is the NHS to survive. Perhaps 2014 is the year to take action to make sure this happens…